


Ultimatum

by Luka



Series: We're a Team [12]
Category: Rugby RPF, Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Established Relationship, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 16:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20138710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: Owen's back with England after his statutory five-week break - and has plenty of personal and professional issues to deal with.





	Ultimatum

**Author's Note:**

> This is the latest instalment in my series that tries to explore what might happen if two international rugby stars came out. A reminder, too, that I've hijacked characters for my own nefarious ends - it's fiction! And here's a warning for much swearing ...
> 
> This story takes place between the end of the second England training camp and the start of the one in Bristol.

The third time the wanker from the Daily Mail kept his finger down on the doorbell, Owen cracked. He stood on a chair and took the battery out of the bell mechanism. Then he stuffed a change of clothes into a small rucksack, went online and booked a last-minute air ticket, climbed over next door’s fence and got into the taxi that was waiting for him at the end of the road. The Pakistani taxi driver was clearly a cricket fan, talking enthusiastically about the World Cup, and didn’t seem to know Owen from Adam. And that suited him fine.

Sunday night and Dublin airport was full of hen and stag party groups looking the worse for wear. Owen pulled a baseball cap down over his eyes and made for the short-stay car park where his dad was waiting for him.

“All right?”

Owen put the seat belt on, then nodded. “Yeah. Just needed some space.”

“And …?” His dad was regarding him unwaveringly, not showing any signs of starting the car.

“I had the fucking media on the doorstep,” said Owen unwillingly. 

“Why?”

“You haven’t seen the Guardian or the BBC site?”

“We only got back from Connemara this afternoon, about an hour before you phoned. No mobile signal out there, let alone wifi.”

His dad listened without comment as Owen told him what had happened. “Cunt,” was his snapped verdict on Ashton - and neither of them would be repeating the word in front of Owen’s mam, who had strong views on which swear words were acceptable, even among rugby players. 

By the time they got to the house, his mam had seen the story and was clearly upset. She hugged him and then went back to making his favourite roast beef meal. He perched on a stool, peeled vegetables and gave her the whole saga. Then he and his dad set the table, chatting casually about World Cup preparations. And as they sat down for a family meal, Owen knew it had been the right decision to come to Dublin

Gabe was delighted to see Owen, and they spent an hour or so after dinner working on his little brother's kicking – their dad had put up some mini posts in the back garden.

“Where’s George?” asked Gabe, lining the ball up and showing that he’d perfected his big brother’s place-kicking head-tilt.

“Training with England this week.”

“Why aren’t you there?”

“I’m still on holiday. I’ll be there next week.”

“My best friend Leo said that his brother’s getting married soon and he’s going to be a page boy. Can I be a page boy when you and George get married?”

“I expect so,” said Owen, hoping he could get George to reconsider on that issue. And he wondered suddenly if his sisters would expect to be bridesmaids. At least George’s brothers were too old to be page boys. Although Joe’s little lad would look cute all dressed up. Shit, so much for a quick ceremony, or whatever you called it, followed by an epic piss-up. It sounded like they needed to start planning soon …

“Do you want to talk to Siobhan next door about rings?” asked his mam. She and his dad had been enjoying the warm early evening air and had clearly overheard Gabe’s request.

Owen nodded. “And should I ask Elle and Gracie if they want to be bridesmaids? I mean, I didn’t think they’d be fussed …”

“Ask. I think you might be surprised,” said his mam, smiling fondly. “And you really do need to think about setting a date. Lots of places are booked up well in advance. Have you talked about where you want to hold it?”

Owen shook his head. “I think we just assumed it’d be a quick official thing somewhere, followed by a big bash.”

“In which case you definitely do need to book a venue well in advance. Ask some of the married Sarries lads for recommendations.”

“Good idea.”

His mam hustled Gabe inside to go to bed, ignoring his protestations that he wasn’t tired and that he hadn’t completed his 50 place-kicks yet. Owen flicked through his Instagram feed and laughed. James Haskell, kitted out in a rainbow vest, and his wife had taken part in London Pride. And Chris Robshaw had posted a photo of himself holding rainbow flags. The usual bigots were there, flouncing off noisily - as if either of the lads cared - but the supportive messages vastly outweighed them. Owen carefully typed in a rainbow on both photos.

“What’s funny?” His dad handed him a mug of tea and sat down beside him on the bench.

Owen passed over the phone and his dad scanned it. “Good lads,” was all he said.

***

Siobhan next door had long grey hair and looked rather like a witch. She had a lovely smile and a gentle manner, and had clearly taken to her new neighbours. The previous occupants of the house had been a middle-aged couple who’d been polite enough, but who hadn’t been enamoured of all the rugby practising going on in the adjoining garden.

“So you’re Owen.” Her handshake was surprisingly firm, and her green eyes surveyed him from top to toe.

He nodded, suddenly tongue-tied, and sat down next to his mam on the sofa. Siobhan pulled an upright chair over and opened a scrapbook full of photographs.

“Will you look through this and show me which ones you like? And we can send photos to your partner as well.”

“You do know I’m marrying a bloke, don’t you?” said Owen, more brusquely than he’d meant to.

“I do. Tell me a little bit about him.”

“Um …” 

Owen’s mam smiled. “He’s a lovely lad. Imagine a smaller, darker, quieter version of Owen, although less openly aggressive on the field!”

“Mam!”

“George is also from a rugby family and eats, sleeps and breathes the sport. He’s a very serious young man. They’ve known each other since they were 13 or 14.”

Owen nudged his mam to shut her up, then reached for his phone and showed Siobhan the wallpaper. It was his favourite photo of George, taken by one of the official photographers during training, and had captured him smiling. He was wearing a woolly hat and his fringe poked out endearingly.

Siobhan regarded it seriously for a minute or so. “He’s a lovely-looking boy. Now, your engagement ring is very plain. Do you want something similar, or something a little fancier?”

***

Owen's flight back to England was the last one on Wednesday evening. Both his parents and Gabe went to the airport with him, and he suddenly realised how much he missed them. He’d had the piss ripped out of him by teammates for living at home until he was in his mid-20s when his parents had forced his hand by moving to Ireland, but he genuinely liked being with his mum and dad. There’d never been an issue about telling them things - loads of his schoolfriend had moaned constantly about having to keep secrets from their parents. It was why Owen had never even thought twice about telling his mam and dad that he was gay. He’d always got on well with his sisters. And he loved having a little brother around.

He'd tried to phone George before he got on the plane, but his partner's phone was turned off. He tried again when the plane landed and then when he got home, but it was still the same. When this continued into Thursday, Owen started to wonder. George never let his phone run out of charge. Realistically he knew someone would have let him know immediately if something was wrong, but he couldn't help worrying. He tried Ben's and then Jonny's phones, and got exactly the same message. His finger hovered over JJ's number, but Owen knew it would be the same.

It was almost 10pm on Thursday night when George arrived. They kissed for several minutes, and then Owen said: “I thought you'd run away to sea …"

"I bloody nearly did! I'm auditioning to be action man after the past two days. And yeah, I know we're about the same size!"

Owen smiled, but said nothing - he never made comments about George's height. He listened to the saga of Eddie's latest bonding exercise, sent George to have a shower, then set about finding oil and towels so he could give him a massage. Owen wanted George finally to be able to relax. A sudden flood of WhatsApp comments and text messages as players had either got home or were well into their journeys had made it abundantly clear that George had thrown himself whole-heartedly into the Cornwall challenges. There was the usual piss-taking about him ending up in the water and having to be fished out, but there were more cracks about selling him to the circus for his sure-footedness on the ropes.

"You could make a fortune doing this for a living," muttered George as Owen worked on the knots in his shoulders and back. The bruising from the clash with Courtney was fading, but Owen was still gentle over those areas.

"What, seducing innocent fly-halves?"

"That as well! Owwwww, that hurt!"

"Good," said Owen, applying more pressure to the tense shoulders. Once he was happy that all the tension had been ironed out, he finished the massage with long, sweeping strokes down George's back.

George curled up on the bed, his head in Owen’s lap. His hair was damp and uncharacteristically spiky, and his cheeks were flushed. And his smile was dazzling - the smile that only Owen got to see.

"I hear Cips copped a feel of you a couple of times." Owen tried to make his tone light, but he realised there was a flash of illogical jealousy there. At least half a dozen of the lads had taken great delight in dobbing the Gloucester fly-half in to him.

"Hardly. The lad's straight, as we know from all his tabloid escapades."

"There was that transvestite …"

“Eh? What transvestite?”

"Don't you remember the story?"

“I’m sure I’d have remembered that. When was it?"

"I dunno. Ten years ago, maybe. I was definitely playing for Saracens. He picked up this girl in a nightclub and slept with her. She sold her story to the papers and it turned out she used to be a bloke. He was known as DCWSWAM - Danny Cipriani who slept with a man - for a while after."

"Transexual, then," said George precisely. “It doesn’t mean he’s bi. And I'd hardly be glamorous enough for him even if he is. I doubt he goes for plain little northern lads with no small-talk!"

"I don't think he's interested in small-talk!” Owen waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

George laughed, and as usual it softened his whole face and made him look much younger. “Should I be offended that he never invited me to his bedroom to see his etchings?”

“Lucky escape, I’d say. And no way are you plain," said Owen, his fingers threading through George's hair.

“You’re biased!” George caught hold of Owen’s hand and kissed his palm.

“Yep! And mam and dad’s next-door neighbour, who’s going to make the rings for us, said you’re a lovely-looking lad …”

“That’s nice of her, but I’m not going to be giving George Clooney anything to worry about!”

“I bet his place-kicking’s crap! And you’re the only George I want,” said Owen.

“You do my ego the world of good …”

“In that case, do you want to see my etchings?”

“Yeah, go on, then!”

***

“Penny for ‘em!” Owen leaned over and kissed George. He’d woken up to find his partner curled comfortably on his side, his blue eyes fixed unwaveringly on Owen and looking so endearingly serious.

George rolled on top of Owen, supporting his weight on his arms, to return the kiss. “I was just thinking how lucky I am that I’ve got the rugby career loads of lads dream of, and that I’ve also got you. That’s a hell of a lot of luck for one person …”

Owen cupped George’s face in his hands and kissed him again. “Your rugby career’s not luck. It’s all through bloody hard work. As for me, I dunno. I don’t believe in karma or destiny or any of that shit. But the first time I met you I had this weird feeling that we’d end up as friends.”

George smiled. “I remembered the other day what you said to me after we’d made love that first time, that we were meant for each other … You must have had a crystal ball!”

Owen winced and sniggered theatrically. And then it degenerated into a mock fight which ended with George, who had no qualms about playing dirty, sitting on top of Owen, his muscular thighs pinning his partner’s arms to his sides.

“You’re miiiiiine, all miiiiiiine!”

“Yeah? Then get a bloody move on! Or are you waiting for an invitation in the post?”

They were lying tangled together and both trying to steady their breathing when Owen’s phone beeped. He reached out to check the message. It was from his sister Gracie.

_“Mum’s told us what you asked her the other day and the answer’s yes. Of course we want to be bridesmaids! Why did you think we wouldn’t want to be?”_

_“I dunno, I wasn’t sure … And of course you can be!”_

Owen set the phone aside and reached for his laptop from the bedside table, then jabbed George in the ribs. “Come on, we’ve got a wedding to plan.”

“What, this minute?” George sat up, looking very cute and rumpled.

“Yep. Mam says we need to book somewhere for the bash, as apparently all the good places get booked up ages in advance. So we need to decide where to hold it. I can ask some of the married lads at the club where they held their receptions. Or if we’re gonna have it up your way, can you ask Lenny and Tom where they held theirs?”

“Probably the arse-end of Norfolk …”

“Siobhan’s sent us some photos of rings to look at. And you know you said we wouldn’t need bridesmaids and page boys? Well, I’ve got an idea …”

***

By the time they went to the not-so-greasy spoon cafe for a late breakfast, they’d identified the first weekend in August 2020, after England’s summer tour and before the Premiership started, as a likely date. George, who was straight into the organising, had gone online and found a promising-looking tithe barn in Hertfordshire that was licensed for weddings and civil partnerships. It turned out, once Owen had gone onto the Saracens WhatsApp group, that George Kruis’s cousin had held an event there and recommended it highly. George had phoned the place and arranged for them to look around it the next day. 

George was surprisingly amenable to the idea of bridesmaids and page boys, just so long as he could have his small team of best men.

“Joe’s Kobe and Gabe’ll both look cute as page boys.”

“Yeah. Have you asked your Joe and Jacob if they want to be best men?”

“Both the buggers just assumed they’d be asked!”

“I suppose we could make a start on a guest list …”

George nodded and pulled his iPad out of his rucksack. “Right, families first. We need to decide about cousins that we haven’t seen since we were six, or whatever. And do we know whether any relatives are likely to boycott a wedding where two blokes are getting hitched?”

“God, I dunno. I’ll ask me mam and dad, and you ask yours. The bloody Farrell dynasty stretches all over Lancashire, so we’ll have to draw the line somewhere.”

“And we need to decide on teammates …”

Owen nodded. “Jinx, Maro, Kruiser, Wiggy, Brad, Sanjay, Lozza and Goodey for sure.”

“It wouldn’t be against Maro’s religion?”

“He asked the other day if we’d set a date, so I assume not.”

“Fair enough. Jonny, Ben, Tom, Kyle and Coley. And Ant and JJ from Bath. Jack and Sladey. Elliot. Dylan. And Joe Marler. We gonna ask Hask?”

Owen rolled his eyes, having been trolled mercilessly on YouTube by Haskell for years. But he’d given Folau and Billy both barrels, and had been one of the first to congratulate Owen and George. “Yeah, go on …”

“Any obvious ones we’re missing?”

“That’ll get us started.” Owen poured them both refills of tea. And neither of them had mentioned the elephants in the room - Mako and Billy.

***

The girl at the reception desk, who looked about 12, shrieked when they walked into the tithe barn the next morning. “Oh my god, it’s you two! Are you going to get married here?”

Owen and George looked at each other. “Um, we don’t know yet. We’ve just come to see round,” said Owen.

“You’ve always been my favourites! And this is sooooo cool!”

She squeezed between them to take some selfies, stood on tip-toes to give them both a hug and then summoned a faintly bemused event manager to show them round.

“Sonia says you are famous …” The woman, who’d introduced herself as Elena, sounded eastern European. 

“Well, we’re not footballers or anything,” said Owen. “We play rugby …”

“I’m afraid I know nothing about rugby. Now, let me show you the facilities.”

The barn itself had timbered beams, and looked like it would seat 150-200 people. Outside, there was a rose-covered trellis area where Elena said the actual ceremonies took place. The grounds were large and beautifully maintained. Owen spotted a duck pond and muttered to George that it was a safe bet that they’d be fishing Gabe out of it before the day was over.

“So is it what you are looking for?” asked Elena.

“It’s lovely,” said Owen. “What’s the availability for next August?”

“Let me check the diary for you.”

She made them cups of coffee and leafed though a large desk diary. “We are booked for the first Saturday in August 2020, but the Sunday is free. Would you like to book that day?”

They looked at each other and nodded. It was perfect.

***

The first person they saw when they checked into the hotel in Bristol was Joe Marler. The prop slapped Owen on the shoulder and then gave George, who he had a barely-concealed soft spot for, a bear-hug that lifted him off his feet.

“Oops, should I be doing that now you’re nearly a married man? I hear Cips was feeling you up last week. Does he know that young Faz’ll hunt him down and hand him his balls on a plate?”

“I think Cips likes them pretty and blonde and with bigger tits than mine!”

“That lad’d shag anything that moves. I bet the sheep in the Forest of Dean are nervous now he’s moved to Gloucestershire!”

“Cheers for all your tweets and Instagram stuff, mate,” said Owen, rapidly deciding to steer the conversation away from the Gloucester fly-half.

“I’ll keep trolling cunts for as long as needed ... You know me, I never know when to shut the fuck up!”

***

“Has Eddie said anything to you about Cips, Ant and Sam?” George’s eyes were scanning rapidly down the list of attendees and the camp schedule.

“Only that he’s got them working elsewhere on strength and conditioning work.”

“It doesn’t make sense. Ant I can understand, as he’s definitely not fully fit yet. But not the other two.”

Owen shrugged. “You know Eddie. It’s probably mind-games as well.”

“I really hope it’s not because Cips gave him a lot of shit for giving me a hard time …”

“I doubt it. You know what Eddie’s views on Cips are …” Owen chose to keep quiet about the fact he largely agreed with the coach. He knew George had seen a different side of him at the previous camp, and several of the Gloucester boys had said how much his mindset seemed to have changed since his move to Kingsholm. The guy was a talented player for sure, but he’d also proved to be a disruptive presence in dressing rooms in the past. Owen resolved to ask Eddie what Johan Ackermann, the Gloucester coach, had said on that matter.

“I dunno …” George rubbed his eyes and went over to talk to JJ, who seemed rather lost without Ant there to take the piss out of him.

***

There were plenty of wolf-whistles and smutty comments when Owen and George walked in together for the evening meal. Owen had been expecting it, given it was the first time the whole squad had been together since their coming out bombshell. He gave the assembled gathering the finger, and plonked himself down at a table with the Exeter contingent. He could see George hesitating and wondering whether they should sit separately, before sitting down in between Owen and Jack.

“Congrats on the engagement,” said Henry, who was on the other side of Owen.

“Thanks, mate. And thanks for the text.” Henry had been one of the first to text his congratulations when they came out. And as usual Owen had to lean forward to hear him, as he was a quietly-spoken lad, unlike Jack, who was a livewire on and off the pitch and who was currently making George laugh with some unlikely story.

“What the hell was Ashton’s problem? And are they going to discipline him?”

Owen shrugged. “I dunno. He kicked off at George the moment he turned up for the first training camp. And then there was the shit on his Facebook page. All he’s done since is say it was a private post. As far as I know the RFU, the RPA and Sale are all investigating.”

“Were you and George friends with him on Facebook?”

“No.”

“Me neither. I think he has me down as a posh southern boy.”

“I don’t think he likes anyone, apart from himself!”

***

The next day was a mix of media interviews, intensive gym work and unit meetings. Owen also spent some time chatting to people, particularly the newcomers. He barely knew Alex Dombrandt, Ruaridh McConnochie, Ollie Thorley and Lewis Ludlum. They all seemed sound lads, and totally delighted to be there, particularly Alex, who’d had a meteoric rise from university rugby to the edge of the international stage.

The row in the team room could be heard from the far end of the corridor. Joe’s voice was clear and level, with no sign of his usual levity. Billy was getting more and more agitated.

“So let me get this right. You tell the fucking media that you’re sorry you dumped shit on your mates, but you’re not sorry for what you said … So if you’re trying to troll those two kids, don’t even fucking bother, because you won’t win.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I bet you don’t … Faz and Fordy are good lads and don’t deserve shit from the likes of you. The law of the land says they can get married, and that trumps some old book.”

“Don’t say that about the bible.”

“You stop peddling homophobic shit …”

Maro and Jamie stepped between them and the room suddenly went quiet.

“This isn’t helpful, guys,” said Maro quietly.

“Yeah? You tell Billy to can the homophobic bollocks, then. But you’re a bible-basher, aren’t you, son? Does that mean you share his views?”

Before Maro could respond, Eddie appeared in the doorway and snapped: “Squad meeting in half an hour. Get everyone down here.”

Owen caught George’s eye and they went outside into the warm air. He could see that George, usually so self-possessed, was having difficulty controlling his anger.

“So he’s only gone and fucking shot his mouth off in a media interview! He fucking did it on purpose!” 

“I’m sure he did. But if we have the right to speak out, so does he,” said Owen, knowing that it was a weak justification.

George was onto it like a rat down a drainpipe. “But we’re not peddling fucking hate speech!”

“I know. All we can do is to wait for him to hang himself. He’s on a warning as it is.”

“Yeah, like they’ll fucking do anything about it …”

“Come on, our kid, we’ve got to trust Eddie to deal with this.” Owen glanced around quickly, then kissed George’s forehead.

“Yeah, I know … Why’s Billy such a cunt?”

Owen kept quiet, knowing that George wasn’t expecting an answer to that question. He could cheerfully have strangled Billy. The lad wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he had to know that he was stirring the shit. 

***

There was no trace of Eddie’s trademark relaxed good humour as he surveyed the crowded room. “I realise that feelings are running high, but I want to make a few things crystal-clear. Firstly, we’re training for a World Cup, and tension and a bad atmosphere are both a recipe for disaster. Everyone in this squad has to be committed to England and to be pulling in the same direction. I don’t expect you all to like each other, but I do expect you to be professional for the sake of team unity. Fail to do so and I won’t hesitate to drop people from the squad. 

“Secondly, rugby is an inclusive sport and hate language of any sort won’t be tolerated. One player has already been dismissed from the squad for homophobia, and I’ll do the same again if necessary. If you happen to be religious, bear in mind that that doesn’t trump the law of the land. Same-sex marriage is legal in England, so I’d like to think everyone here is happy for Owen and George on their engagement.”

There was loud applause and wolf-whistles. Owen glanced at George, who shrugged, knowing instinctively what Owen was asking.

Owen stood up, trying to rein in his anger. He knew that he talked faster and that his accent grew stronger whenever he lost his cool. He and George routinely had the piss ripped out of them for their strong Lancashire accents. So he took a deep breath and tried to slow down his delivery.

“Thanks, Eddie. We really appreciate the support. This is the first and last time I’m gonna discuss mine and George’s private life in front of everyone. But I bet some of you are thinking that we’ve brought the shit on ourselves by going public. And if you are, that’s fucking bollocks. We’ve as much right to live our lives openly as the rest of you have. You’d never think twice about posting a photo of your wife or girlfriend to Instagram, or bringing them to a match. So yeah, I’m gonna post photos to social media of me and George together, and if I want to kiss him after a cup final, I’m gonna fucking do it! And every time that cunt Folau opens his nasty, bigoted mouth, we’re gonna shout over him so that gay kids know they’re not alone and that there’s nothing wrong with being gay.

“Me and George want to say thank you to everyone who’s stood up for us and supported us. Jinx, Lenny, Cips, Jonny, Coley and Joe, you all rock, for a start. And I want to make a few things crystal fucking clear. To any of you who’ve got a problem with the relationship on a rugby level, Eddie’s known about us since George joined the senior side and if you're stupid enough to think it's affected selection or our performances, go and discuss that with Eddie. We haven’t shared a room for years, not since the age group tours. And if you’ve got a problem with two blokes getting hitched, then fuck you - it’s not against the law and our private life is no one’s business but ours.” 

“As the saying goes: ‘If you’re against same-sex marriage, then don’t marry someone of the same sex!’” The voice from the back was unmistakably Joe Marler’s.

This was greeted with laughs and applause. Owen looked over at George, whose gaze was steady and his head held high despite his cheeks burning at his private life being paraded before his teammates. And he noticed that Mako’s face was expressionless and that Billy had turned away.


End file.
